Deliverance
by SassyJ
Summary: Stuart and Jo head the investigation into the brutal beating of a prisoner. That prisoner is Zain; it falls to Mickey to get the full story from a traumatised Zain. How will this effect Mickey's feelings towards his former colleague?
1. Chapter 1

_Just talk to him_, Jo had said. Mickey switched his cell phone off, and headed down the corridor to the small private room. Every step taking him closer to his former friend and colleague, Mickey paused, he didn't really want to do this. Zain had been tried and convicted and that was an end to it.

Only now he was beaten up and lying in a hospital bed, and it was Mickey's job to try to get through to him. Get the story of what had happened to Zain Nadir two nights ago. Jo thought Zain might find it easier to open up to Mickey, they'd been friends once.

Mickey took a deep breath and pushed the door open. _A broken arm and a dislocated shoulder, how bad could it actually be?_

Zain was slumped over sideways in the bed, apparently asleep; although how he could possibly sleep in the state he was in, Mickey couldn't have said. It was a lot worse than he imagined. The hospital gown was only partially wrapped around Zain's body, his right arm encased in some kind of splint, wrapped and pinned to his torso by a sling, what little of his right arm that Mickey could see covered in deep purple bruising.

He looked pale, and thinner than Mickey remembered.

Mickey swallowed. He thought he could despise his former friend for what Zain had done. But it wasn't that simple. He could not just walk away from the injured man, this was Zain. Whatever he had done, however much distance Mickey tried to put between them. This was still Zain.

Zain knew about Mickey, they had been close, and Mickey had shared a confidence. Even in the depths of his hatred for what Zain had done, Mickey's soul had cried out at what his proud and private friend was going through.

"Zain." Mickey pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. He would have to play it by ear.

"Zain." He put out a hand and gently touched Zain's left hand.

Zain flinched away from his touch, he jerked back in the bed, his eyes flew open and he stared at Mickey.

_Oh god._ In one touch of Zain's hand, Mickey had his answer, and he shook with the force of the pain of it, his mind replaying his own little horror movie as he stared into Zain's terrified dark eyes.

"Mickey." Zain just stared at his old friend, he tried to breathe slowly and evenly as the burning sensation behind his eyes intensified. This was Jo, he knew it, sending in the one person who could get behind the mask. He tried to hold on to his emotions, the three weary years of prison conditioning should have rendered him invulnerable.

He hurt too much, his body too damaged; he couldn't keep the agony from his shoulder and arm at bay and keep Mickey out of his head at the same time. He could see the pain in Mickey's eyes, suffering for what Zain was going through, and that was enough. Someone cared.

He slumped over again, his left hand reaching out. Mickey took his hand gently and held on as the tears came.


	2. Chapter 2

_It was Zain Nadir_. Stuart tried to tell himself that it didn't matter who it was, he had a job to do. He leafed through the folder of pictures he had been given and winced. Whatever Zain had done, he was already paying for it, but this...

He should hate Zain Nadir; he knew that. He was Stuart Turner, the office hardcase, he didn't feel things deeply, he shouldn't care about feelings or the victim in this case.

But it wasn't working out like that.

Stuart had hurt himself a time or two in the line of duty, he'd broken the odd bone, and once he had separated his shoulder in a struggle with a suspect, but he'd never experienced anything like Zain's injuries.

The half-length from the front shot was the worst, Zain naked from the waist up, lying on his side, his face in shadow, his right arm twisted at a strange angle. If you could tear your eyes away from the terrible bruising, and the places where flesh was stretched over bone twisted brutally; the realisation that Zain's eyes were open, that he was fully conscious throughout... the pain he had to have been in...

Stuart felt sick.

He looked up at the surgeon, "Can you explain the difference between fractures again?" Trying to keep his voice even.

The man switched on the lightbox, and traced the line of the fracture to Zain's right arm on the x-ray, "a spiral stress fracture, no possibility that it was accidental." He turned to face Stuart, "his right arm was literally torn out of its socket. It takes considerable force to do something like that. It didn't happen in a fall from a bunk bed. The fracture would present differently. I would lay money on it being from some kind of punishment session."

"What do you think happened?" Stuart was half afraid to ask. Not sure he even wanted to imagine the details of what had been inflicted on his former colleague.

Patiently the surgeon explained the possibilities.

...ooo0ooo...

Jo worked her way through the two reports, checking for inconsistencies; trying to match her knowledge of Zain against what Adams, the prison officer had said.

Adams said it was a fall. From a bunk bed. Jo knew it wasn't. Zain was strong, fit and athletic; granted three years of incarceration would have changed him, but he was still fit and healthy. Adams' report did not make sense.

Jo sat back and thought about it. There was definitely something there. Whichever way you looked at it, the rational explanation was that there was a prison officer involved. Zain had been found on the floor of his cell, at nine-thirty in the morning, there was no note of him being there when they opened up at eight-thirty.

The swing doors opened, and Stuart came through them. Normally he would blow into CID like a small hurricane, everybody aware of his presence within a few seconds of his arrival. This time he walked over to his desk, uncharacteristically quiet and subdued.

Jo turned to face him. "Stu?" He slumped into his chair, and raked his hands through his hair and shrugged.

"Just thinking."

She put the file down. "About?"

He looked away from her, "Jo that could have been me."

"Stu... what are you talking about?"

He looked back at her, "Jo, ever wondered where I would be if the Postman case had turned out differently?"

Jo pushed her chair back and got to her feet. "Stuart, let's go and put together what we have so far."

He picked up the file and followed her into the briefing room. She flicked the switch for the interactive board, as he moved to pin up the pictures he had been given at the hospital.

As he pinned the last one in place, she closed the blinds, giving them some privacy. "Now what's this about the Postman?"

Stuart sighed. "The whole thing."

"Stuart Turner, what _are_ you talking about?"

"I would be in prison right now."

Jo walked right up to him, as he slumped against the table. He looked down at the floor, avoiding her gaze, she put her hand on the back of his neck and gently rubbed. "Stu. One fundamental difference, you didn't cross the line."

He tried to shrug it off. "But..."

"But nothing," Jo said firmly, "You were arrogant and stupid admittedly, but you couldn't cross that line."

"Zain..."

"Zain did what he did because he made a mistake. And he didn't have anybody to help him out of it, bring him back." Jo rested her forehead against Stu's for a moment. "I wish..."

Stu's arms slid around her waist and he hugged her to him. "You wish you could have helped Zain, like you saved me." He said quietly. "If it wasn't for you Jo, that's what I'm trying to say."

"I know, hun. I know."


	3. Chapter 3

Mickey pushed open the door to Zain's room. It had been two days, and Zain was still unable to tell Mickey what happened.

It was difficult, he had his own demons; but he was hurting for Zain. He hadn't expected that. He had thought that he hated the man.

That wasn't true, he had been fooling himself and knew it. Admitting it was another thing. Alone at his flat he replayed the times he spent with his proud friend. _Rich boy_ indeed. Perhaps if Zain hadn't felt so alone he would never have fallen for Kirsten's dubious charms. Perhaps Mickey could have saved him... if only he'd had the courage to accept the feelings that he was sure he could forget.

Perhaps it was all Mickey's fault.

Feelings he thought he had buried were rolling back, he tried to keep them at bay, but they pushed back. Now he had to guide Zain to relate his story, and memories were getting in the way.

Zain was lying on his back, propped up by several pillows keeping him still in the bed; just staring up at the ceiling.

"Hey." Mickey sat down. "Penny for them."

"Not worth that much." The tightness in Zain's voice made Mickey move closer.

"Mate?"

"It's nothing."

Mickey put his hand over Zain's left hand. "It isn't _nothing_, Zain... talk to me."

Zain continued to study the ceiling. "There's almost no feeling in my hand and arm, Mickey. What if tomorrow makes no difference?"

"Then they'll try again," Mickey leaned forward, "the doctor said it might take more than one operation."

"I..." Zain trailed off.

"Zain... whatever happens, we'll get you through this, I promise."

"What _we_, Mickey..." Zain's voice was harsh with strain, "there's no one left." He laughed humourlessly. "And I can hardly complain! I did it all to myself."

Mickey moved to sit on the bed. "What we? Look at what's in front of you, Zain."

Zain rolled his head to one side, fighting back the tears. He hated his weakness, the fear.

The gentle touch of Mickey's hand on his cheek surprised him. "Zain." He kept his face turned away. "Zain." He turned towards his friend.

"Mickey." He tried to hold onto the shattered remnants of his pride.

"You're not alone anymore."

Cautiously Zain looked up. Mickey was just inches away. For a long moment they just stared at each other. Mickey leant in, and gently planted a kiss on Zain's lips.

They pulled apart, and Mickey's hand slid around Zain's neck and buried itself in his short dark hair. Carefully he moved so that Zain could lean against him, avoiding touching Zain's injured shoulder and arm.

"Zain..." Mickey tried again. "Who did this to you?"

Zain shook his head and burrowed closer. Mickey put his arms around him and just held on.

He sat back and waited. _That was all you could do for a mate, hold on and wait for him to be ready_.

...ooo0ooo...

Jack Meadows switched his mobile off and headed for the private room where Zain had been put. While his team investigated, Zain Nadir was in Jack's jurisdiction. The prison governor hadn't been particularly happy about it, but since Zain's injuries severely restricted his movement and there was a good chance that a prison officer was involved, there was little the governor could say.

Jack knew it was bad, he'd seen the pictures of Zain's arm and shoulder. He'd had the full report from Stuart. The last time Jack had seen Stuart that distressed or emotionally engaged was the Towler/Tameside Crew case. At least Stuart had Jo. Jack had never fully understood the friendship between his shallow, glory-seeking sergeant and his tough, no-nonsense constable, but it was intense, close and almost lover-like. They actively sought each other's company both inside and outside work. And, they made a great partnership. As Mickey had pointed out over a late night beer at Jack's one night, Stuart's arrogance and Jo's intuition made a great team, and since he wasn't scared of her, and she kept his over-exuberance in check, it would make Mickey and the rest of CID very happy if they were just left to get on with it.

Mickey Webb. Now that was the real reason Jack was here, on his way to Zain Nadir's bedside. A half-formed thought in his head, a peculiar suspicion... his son gone... Mickey Webb was the man Jack wished his son was.

He pushed open the door to Zain's room.

Mickey sitting on Zain's bed; Zain slumped over, his head resting against the smaller man's shoulder. Mickey cradling Zain gently against him. The lines of suffering on Zain's face even in sleep... then Mickey looked up at Jack.

Even from ten feet away Jack read the tenderness in Mickey's eyes and knew his suspicions were accurate.

"You do know Zain is a convicted prisoner?" Jack's tone was low, intense... disbelieving. "He's got at least another two years before parole."

"I know."


	4. Chapter 4

"Mickey." Jack spread his hands in a gesture of despair. "Have you thought about your career?"

Mickey smiled. "Of course."

Zain moved a little, and stiffened. Mickey carefully shifted his grip as Zain burrowed closer. His good hand came up to clutch at Mickey's shirt front.

"Zain..." Mickey tried to soothe his injured friend, as Zain's face contorted in agony.

Jack moved to press the bell for assistance, Mickey held on while Zain clung to him, shivering.

The nurse clucked her disapproval of Mickey sitting on the bed, but Zain refused to let go his grip of Mickey's shirt. Since he was already tired and distressed and the operation on his shoulder was only a few hours away, Mickey was staying.

The nurse increased the painkiller dose, and left them alone again.

Jack passed a weary hand through his hair, pulled off his overcoat, carefully hanging it on the hook provided by the door. Pulling up a chair he sat by the bed.

"If you're staying, I should."

Mickey frowned. "Jack..."

"Why do you think you have to do this?" Jack looked Mickey right in the eye.

Mickey flushed, he wasn't sure what he could say in the circumstances, _the truth?_ What the hell was the truth?

"He doesn't." The words were so faint, Jack almost couldn't be sure he had heard them. Zain opened his eyes, "he doesn't..." a spasm of pain crossed his face and he coughed a little, as though it was too much effort to speak.

Mickey's fingers caressed the back of Zain's neck in a soothing motion, almost absently as though he were not aware of doing it. Jack took in the expression on his DC's face and realised that something had changed. The feeling he'd had when Zain and Mickey had worked together come true. Whatever the difficulties, Mickey would be standing by Zain.

This was no one-sided love. Through the light of suffering in his disgraced former officer's eyes, Jack could read that this emotion was returned. A tightness in his throat, as he wished that this had happened before, before Kirsten and the destruction of Zain Nadir's life.

Before Zain had been beaten and broken like this.

Because unless Jack was very much mistaken, Zain's one last hope in the world was this love he shared. It was all he had left to cling to, and if he lost that; Jack didn't want to think about the consequences.

Whatever Zain had done, Jack could not abandon him entirely. In that moment Jack knew he was going to do whatever he could to help.

...ooo0ooo...

Mickey's hip ached from holding the same position for so long, but he didn't want to let go. Zain was resting almost peacefully in his arms. It was the early hours of the morning, a hint of grey in the pre-dawn light outside; Jack had gone, finally convinced that his DC hadn't taken leave of his senses. That Mickey knew what he was doing both personally and professionally.

On the personal front Mickey was sure. Professionally?

His original job had been to get Zain to talk about what had happened to him. Even hints about it had caused Zain very real distress. He was already in so much physical pain, Mickey couldn't bear to make his suffering any worse.

It was getting harder to be detached about this, he had to ask, there was no force on earth that could force Zain to tell. And Mickey did not want to even try to force him.

Alone with Zain, with no one watching, Mickey could be himself. Surprised by love, up until two days ago he had believed that he hadn't really thought of Zain in that way except perhaps in quiet dark moments alone; then Kirsten Shaw had appeared and Zain had destroyed himself for her. Mickey had tried to forget his friend with Mia.

It hadn't worked. He had known he was all washed up with Mia. He tried to hate Zain. He thought he'd finally had a handle on that; until he had pushed open the door to Zain's hospital room and seen him again.

Zain moved. Stiffening a little, and Mickey's hand went out to reach for the bell.

"No." Zain groaned.

"Mate... you're in agony."

"Won't be... feeling ... a ... thing." Zain gasped.

Mickey gently rubbed the back of Zain's neck. "Sssshhh... save your strength."

Zain shook his head. A very slight movement.

"Zain?" Mickey was worried. This was not like Zain at all. "Zain, what happened to you?" he prompted gently. His friend burrowed closer, shivering in pain, his distress over-whelming.

"did they..?" Mickey trailed off, he just couldn't ask that, but Zain nodded as he fell to pieces.

Mickey could only hold him close, as grief and fear let loose.


	5. Chapter 5

Mickey pulled up a chair and sat down next to Zain's bed. He was back in his room, just out of surgery, awake but exhausted and in need of rest.

Mickey needed to be alone with his friend. His mind was still trying to process everything that Zain had told him, _and the things he hadn't_.

The surgeon had spoken to Mickey. It wasn't good news. The damage was more extensive than the x-ray could reveal. Nerves were damaged, Zain was therefore unlikely to regain full use of his arm. There would be more operations, and Zain was likely to be hospitalized for some time. But the overall outcome was in little doubt.

_How do you tell someone you love that they are going to be a cripple for the rest of their life. Especially after what Zain had said._

Mickey thought about the paperwork that had been brought in, Zain was right-handed, he couldn't sign, so Mickey had picked it up. On top of the folder was a form that... Mickey leant forward, crushing his hands together he breathed in and out slowly as the tears burned behind his eyes. _DNR ... do not resuscitate... He'd pushed it aside, and Zain had asked him what it was. Mickey had wanted to lie, but Zain had been hurt enough, he deserved the truth even if Mickey hadn't wanted to say it._

_Zain wanted him to sign it. "Why...?" Mickey thought he knew the answer, but the pain when it came made the room spin round. _

"_Wouldn't it be better if I never woke up... before I hurt anyone else."_

Mickey reached out and took Zain's left hand in both of his. "It would never be better, Zain; a world without you." He whispered. No response, Zain was fast asleep.

The door opened behind him. Mickey didn't move, he kept his eyes on Zain, and his hands clasped round Zain's unresponsive one, if people thought that was strange and couldn't deal, that was their problem not his.

"How's he doing?"

Mickey tensed a little, he might have known it would be Jo. No use trying to hide. Jo was too good at reading what she needed to know.

"Not that great."

Three little words. A flat tone, tightness in his voice. _An understatement_. Jo picked up the second visitor's chair and set it down next to the bed, next to Mickey.

"And how are you doing?" She laid a hand on Mickey's arm, "or do I already know the answer to that one?"

Mickey shrugged, a small smile curved the corners of his mouth, a clown's smile, attempting to mask the pain. Jo's fingers gently tightened on Mickey's arm.

"They beat him, Jo." Mickey's voice was tight with the tears he wanted to suppress, he couldn't cry... not now. "They raped him. I don't know the full story but when he tried to resist or fight back or something, they beat him and abused him so badly he'll never regain much use of his right arm." The tears slowly overwhelmed him. Mickey looked away from her, "and all I can do is sit here, and hold him, because there's nothing else I can do to ease his pain. Nothing." He turned towards her again, confusion in his eyes, and pain, "did you know there's a form..." Mickey's lips refused to frame the words, as Jo's arm slid round his shoulders, and gathered him against her.

"I know." She didn't ask _what form?_ To articulate it would be a mistake, and that didn't mean that she didn't have an inkling of what he was talking about. Jo rested her cheek against the top of Mickey's head, as he leaned into her and dissolved into tears.

Her own pain she would deal with somewhere else.

...ooo0ooo...

She leaned against the desk in the briefing room and looked at what they had, and what little they had from Zain.

Piecing together what Mickey had told her, plus the information from Zain's surgeon that Stuart had been given, the level of brutality was terrifying.

That it had happened to someone she knew... Jo buried her head in her hands.

"Hey." A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. Jo turned, as a strong arm slid around her, and pulled her close. She put her arms around his waist then, and leaned into him. Fingers combed through her hair, rubbed the base of her skull as she closed her eyes and concentrated on nothing but the gentle rise and fall of his ribcage as he breathed, her cheek resting against the crisp cotton of his shirt.

Stuart said nothing, just held his friend close and waited for her to unwind. Not for the first time he wondered why holding Jo always felt so right, when it shouldn't have; his fingers gently stroked through the silky strands of her gorgeous chestnut hair, as his mind tried to detach itself from the feeling that he knew she wouldn't welcome.


End file.
